Morning in Tarule always felt like a miracle.

  Even buried inside a mountain cave, the village woke with the sound of life, market chatter bouncing off stone, laughter weaving through the torchlit streets, the clink of mugs and the scrape of boots on carved steps. Warm air carried the smell of bread and stew and smoke, and for a moment it almost forgot the world above was nothing but blizzard and ice.

  Lazarus woke early, like he always did.

  He’d never been the type to sleep in. Maybe it was habit. Maybe it was the years of having no parents to tell him to slow down, no one to lean on except himself. Either way, his eyes opened before the village truly stirred, and he lay still for a breath, listening to the muffled hum of Tarule beyond the wall.

  Then he stood, pulled on his gear, and stepped out of his small stone home into the wide village corridor.

  “I guess it’s morning,” he chuckled to himself, voice fogging in the cooler cave air.

  He made his way down toward the market, letting the place soak into him. Tarule was strange, warm where it should have been freezing, bustling where it should have been empty. For the first time since becoming Chosen, Lazarus felt like he could almost pretend this was a normal life. Stalls lined the main path, makeshift tables stacked with goods: dried meats, bundles of herbs, crude tools, little jars of glowing oil. People moved around them like this was the most normal thing in the world.

  Lazarus drifted to a fruit stall and found a basket of gumpberries, small, dark, and glossy, like they’d been polished.

  He picked one up, turning it in his fingers. The shopkeeper, a broad man with a permanent scowl, looked up.

  “That’s two embers,” he grunted.

  Lazarus froze. “Oh, sorry. I don’t have any money.” He went to put it back.

  “I’ve got it,” Wolf grunted from behind him.

  Lazarus turned to see Wolf step forward, reaching into a satchel. He pulled out a handful of copper-coloured coins and dropped them into the shopkeeper’s palm without ceremony.

  The shopkeeper nodded once and returned to rearranging his stall as if nothing had happened.

  “Thanks,” Lazarus mumbled, a little embarrassed. He rolled the gumpberry between his teeth, then added with a crooked grin, “Haven’t really thought about money. Apparently being The Chosen isn’t a well-paying role.”

  Wolf snorted, half amused. “Don’t mention it. Here, take some of this.”

  He reached back into his satchel and pressed a mixed handful of coins into Lazarus’s hand, copper, silver, and a couple of gold pieces that caught the torchlight.

  “That should help you pay your way a little.”

  Lazarus blinked at the weight of it, then slid the coins into his under-armour with a nod. It was a simple gesture, but it landed heavier than it should have. Practical. Quiet. Protective.

  Wolf glanced toward the tunnel that led deeper into the cave village. “So. Are we ready to gear up and go?”

  “Yeah,” Lazarus said, straightening. “I’m ready. But I think I might need something warmer out there.”

  Wolf’s mouth twitched. “Of course. I’ve got some warmer gear back at mine. Come on.”

  They cut back through Tarule’s carved paths to Wolf’s home. Inside, Wolf moved with the confidence of someone who’d lived here long enough that the stone walls felt like skin. He disappeared into the back room and returned with a massive fur cloak and thick, heavy boots.

  “There you go. Try those on for size.”

  Lazarus tugged the boots on, immediately feeling the difference, the soft insulation swallowing the cold, and then wrapped the cloak around his shoulders. The warmth hit him like a sudden sigh from the world itself.

  “Oh,” Lazarus murmured, surprised. “That’s nice.”

  Wolf watched him with a faint smirk. “Don’t get too comfy. It’s time to head out. Warm or not, it’ll still bite out there. Go grab your rifle. Meet me at the front of the village.”

  Lazarus nodded and stepped back outside, crossing to his own place next door. He took the rifle from the wall mount, checked its weight, and headed down toward the exit.

  Halfway there, he heard a familiar voice.

  “Lazarus!!”

  He stopped and turned.

  Sonia came running toward him, blonde hair streaming behind her like a banner. She wore a long blue skirt that swayed around her boots, cheeks pink from the cave’s chill. When she reached him her breath came quick, and her big blue eyes searched his face like she needed to confirm he was real.

  “You haven’t forgot about our drink later, have you?” she asked softly, almost hopeful.

  “I haven’t,” Lazarus said, and he surprised himself with how easily the words came. “I can’t wait.”

  His smile must have shown something, because Sonia’s expression warmed, like she wanted to hug him and didn’t quite dare. She hovered for a heartbeat, then stepped back.

  Lazarus lifted his hand in a small wave and turned away, walking toward the cave mouth with the rifle held close.

  Behind him, Sonia watched until he disappeared into the narrowing tunnel.

  The cave tightened as Lazarus walked, stone walls pulling in, the air thinning and cooling with every step. Tarule’s warmth faded behind him. The light shifted, orange torch-glow giving way to grey, then to a pale, icy brightness ahead.

  The exit widened into a mouth.

  Beyond it: white.

  White sky. White ground. White wind. The ice fields of Taun stretched out in every direction like the world had been erased and rewritten in snow.

  Wolf stood at the threshold, leaning against the stone, cloak wrapped around him. He looked out over the blizzard like it was an old enemy he respected.

  “Well,” Wolf said as Lazarus joined him, “here we are. The Ice Fields of Taun.”

  He pushed off the wall and gestured into the storm.

  “We’re hunting the Thornic. It’s been causing us issues. We’ve lost hunting parties because of it. We’re to hunt it and slay it. Last seen over the ridge, just over a moon ago. Haven’t seen it since, so we start there. See if we can pick up a scent.”

  They stepped out together.

  The snow crunched beneath every footfall, loud in the emptiness. The blizzard made the world feel close, like the horizon had moved in to suffocate them. Lazarus walked behind Wolf, trying to keep him in sight, but even a few steps of distance blurred into drifting white. Worse, whatever footprints Wolf left vanished almost instantly under fresh snowfall.

  “Blazet,” Lazarus shouted, squinting into the storm. “I can’t see a skathin thing back here!”

  “Not much further!” Wolf called back. “Hopefully he’s there!”

  “I really hope so,” Lazarus muttered, trudging forward. “Catching a frost-curse out here.”

  Wolf stopped suddenly and crouched low.

  “Squat down. We’re here. Stay quiet.”

  Lazarus dropped beside him, heart thumping louder than it should have. They edged toward the ridge, careful, slow.

  Nothing.

  No movement. No shape. No dark smear of life against the snow. Just wind, and snow, and the sickening feeling of being watched by nothing at all.

  Wolf let out a breath and started sliding down the ridge into a wide slope. The snow cushioned his descent, softening his movement. Lazarus followed, sliding in Wolf’s track.

  At the bottom they stood in an empty basin, thick with snow.

  “It looks like nothing’s been here for a while,” Wolf murmured, crouching to study the ground. “No impact. No marks.”

  Lazarus turned slowly, scanning the ridges. The quiet felt wrong, too complete, like the world was holding its breath.

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  Then he saw it.

  A scrape on stone. A claw mark gouged into the side of a ridge, deep enough to expose darker rock beneath.

  “Wolf,” Lazarus called, voice lower now. “Come look at this.”

  Wolf trudged over, eyes narrowing. He brushed snow from the mark and studied it.

  “Okay,” he said. “He’s definitely been here. How long ago, I don’t know. That scrape looks pretty fresh.”

  Wolf looked around again, as if expecting the creature to step out of the white like it belonged there.

  “Let’s follow that scratch. If he climbed out, he’s likely heading in that direction.” He glanced at Lazarus. “Stay close, though, Laz. I don’t want to lose you.”

  Lazarus blinked, then grinned despite the cold. “Laz. I like that.”

  Wolf reached into his rucksack and pulled out a grappling hook. He spun it once, flung it up over the ridge, and tugged hard until it bit into something solid.

  “I’ll go first.”

  He hauled himself up, boots scraping ice, snow crunching, the rope creaking slightly under his weight.

  When he reached the top, Wolf looked down. “Okay, Laz. You next.”

  Lazarus climbed, gripping tight, muscles burning from the cold. At the top he handed the hook back, breath fogging thick in front of his face.

  Wolf nodded. “This way.”

  They hadn’t gone far when the first howl came.

  It rolled across the ice fields like thunder. The ground shivered beneath their boots, and somewhere in the distance snow shifted, disturbed by the vibration of sound alone.

  “Gods bones,” Lazarus breathed. “What was that?”

  “That,” Wolf said, and Lazarus could hear something like excitement under the words, “would be the Thornic. Their howl is capable of creating an avalanche.”

  “Oh great,” Lazarus said flatly. “Now you tell me.”

  Wolf turned his head, listening. “What direction did it come from?”

  Lazarus pointed uncertainly. “I think… that way? The sound echoed so much I couldn’t even tell.”

  A second howl answered, different direction.

  Closer.

  Wolf’s confidence faltered, just for a second. Lazarus saw it.

  “Wolf…” Lazarus said carefully, dread creeping into his throat. “There’s only one, right?”

  “We’ve only ever had one reported,” Wolf admitted. “But there’s… a slim chance it’s multiple that have been reported.”

  Lazarus let out a nervous laugh that came out too loud in the silence. “There’s only one way to find out, right?”

  A third howl hit from another direction.

  This one felt like it was inside Lazarus’s ribs.

  Snow around their boots trembled.

  Wolf’s posture shifted. “Lazarus… I think we might be out of our depth here. We should get back to the village.”

  They turned...

  ...and the howl came again, closer than any of the others, followed by a rumble that turned the snow into a living thing. The ground shook. Loose powder slid off the ridges.

  Wolf’s voice snapped sharp. “LAZARUS RUN!!”

  Lazarus spun, and saw it. The air seemed to compress around him, the snow vibrating beneath his boots as if the world itself was bracing.

  A giant beast charging through the storm, its body massive, its neck ringed with ice crystals sharp as blades. Its paws thundered over the ice, each impact vibrating through the world.

  It was coming straight for him.

  Lazarus leapt aside at the last second, the beast rushing past in a blur of white and fury. He hit the ground, rolled, scrambled up, and ran, legs punching through heavy snow, lungs burning with cold air.

  He tried to look back for Wolf.

  The blizzard swallowed everything.

  He heard the paws again.

  Another howl—

  —and then the Thornic slammed into him.

  Pain exploded through his body as he went airborne, skidding across the snow like a broken doll. The world spun. White became blur. Blur became stillness.

  Lazarus lay there, gasping, the sky above him a spinning, pale nothing.

  He forced himself up, wobbling, breath ragged. His body screamed at him to lie down and die quietly. He ignored it and staggered forward, heading by instinct toward where the cave mouth should be.

  “WOLF!!” he shouted, voice ripping raw. “WOLF!!!”

  No answer.

  The wind swallowed his words and threw them back as meaningless noise.

  If he stayed out here, the Thornic would find him again. He knew it. The only chance was to reach Tarule, get help, get warmth, get eyes searching.

  “I need to get to the village,” he whispered. “Someone there will help.”

  He ran, stumbling, falling, dragging himself upright again. Eventually the cliff face appeared through the snow like a shadow in a nightmare.

  The cave mouth.

  Lazarus reached it and stopped, hunched over, trying to breathe. He stared out into the storm, hoping, begging, to see Wolf emerge.

  Nothing.

  Just snow.

  “Wolf,” Lazarus whispered. “I hope you’re okay.”

  He stumbled back into Tarule’s warmth, numb with shock, and dropped into the same table he’d sat at before. His hands shook. The fur cloak suddenly felt too heavy.

  Sonia hurried over, panic in her eyes.

  “Lazarus? You okay?” Her gaze darted around him. Then her face changed. “Wait, where’s Wolf?”

  “It was the Thornics,” Lazarus said, voice cracking. “They attacked.”

  “Thornics?” Sonia repeated, horrified. “Multiple?”

  Lazarus nodded, swallowing hard. “We got split up. Wolf told me to run… so I ran back here.”

  He collapsed forward onto the table. Sonia wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding him tight like she could keep the world from swallowing him too.

  “Oh honey,” she said softly, trying to sound sure. “Wolf will be okay. He’s been in worse binds than this.”

  Lazarus didn’t answer. His eyes fixed on the cave mouth, as if staring hard enough could pull Wolf through it.

  “Let me get you a drink,” Sonia said. She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

  Lazarus flushed, startled, and didn’t know what to do with his hands. “Uhh… thank you, Sonia.”

  She hurried away.

  Lazarus stood up the moment she turned, already moving toward the exit.

  Sonia returned with a mug just in time to see him heading back into the cold.

  “Lazarus, don’t go out there, it’s not safe!” she shouted up toward the cave mouth. Every part of him wanted to stay in the warmth, in her voice, in the lie that everything would be okay, but Wolf’s face burned brighter than the firelight.

  “I have to find him,” Lazarus called back, voice swallowed by wind already. “I’m sorry, Sonia. I’ll be back soon.”

  Then he stepped out into the storm.

  Outside, the sun was sinking and the temperature had dropped with it. The snow fell faster now, blanketing everything so quickly that even the faintest landmarks disappeared. Lazarus wandered on pure hope, eyes squinting, legs heavy.

  “Let’s just hope the Thornics have gone,” he muttered.

  He searched for anything, footprints, blood, a scrap of fabric, anything that proved Wolf wasn’t just a story the storm had eaten.

  He found a dip in the snow and wondered if it was the same place they’d slid earlier, but the landscape shifted too easily under snowfall. The world rewrote itself minute by minute.

  Lazarus began to lose hope.

  Then he saw something faintly shining in the snow.

  A small red copper coin. The same dull alloy Wolf had pressed into his palm that morning.

  He dropped to his knees and snatched it up, breath catching in his throat.

  “He’s alive,” Lazarus whispered. “He left this for me.”

  He looked around and pushed forward. A few minutes later, another coin.

  Then another.

  A trail.

  Lazarus followed it, heart thudding, mind clinging to the idea that Wolf had been thinking clearly enough, injured and hunted, to leave breadcrumbs for a scout.

  In the distance a howl echoed again. Lazarus stiffened, rifle ready, but the sound faded, swallowed by wind.

  Then, through the storm, another sound.

  “Lazarus!”

  His head snapped up. “Wolf!”

  The snow cleared for a brief moment, like the world offering a single breath of mercy. Lazarus spotted a small cliff face with a narrow hovel carved into it, half-hidden by drifting white.

  He ran, boots slipping, cloak snapping behind him.

  Inside the hovel the air was cold and stale. Darkness swallowed him, but he could make out a shape lying against the stone.

  “Wolf!!” Lazarus shouted, dropping beside him.

  Wolf’s eyes opened, unfocused, then sharpened as he recognised Lazarus.

  “Lazarus,” he rasped. “You found me.”

  Relief crashed through Lazarus so hard he almost shook apart. His gaze dropped—then his stomach lurched.

  Wolf’s leg was a mess, bleeding, broken, scarred, the damage ugly even in the dim.

  “Can you walk?” Lazarus asked, though he already knew the answer.

  “Hardly.” Wolf grimaced. “After you ran, they went after you, gave me a chance to get away. One of them went for my leg. I fought back, weakened one slightly… it scarpered. But it did this.”

  He tried to sit up and failed, breath catching.

  “I dragged myself here,” Wolf continued, “hoping you’d track me.”

  “Don’t strain yourself,” Lazarus said quickly.

  He ripped a strip from his trousers and began wrapping Wolf’s leg, hands shaking, trying to align the bone as best he could without making Wolf scream. Blood darkened the cloth instantly. Lazarus had to swallow hard against dizziness, the sight, the smell, the reality of it.

  “The sun’s setting,” Lazarus said, forcing calm into his voice. “We’ll be safer here for the night. We move at sunrise.”

  He pulled off his fur cloak and draped it over Wolf, tucking it in like Sonia might have done for him.

  Wolf managed a weak smile. “What about your drink with Sonia?”

  Lazarus huffed a breath that was half laugh, half pain. “I’m sure she’ll understand.”

  He settled back as best he could, making sure Wolf was warm, keeping himself close enough to hear him breathe.

  Outside the wind howled through the hovel’s mouth, sometimes sounding almost like the Thornic itself, as if the storm enjoyed mocking them.

  “You get some rest,” Lazarus said quietly. “Stay warm. We’ll be back at the village in the morning.”

  They tried to sleep.

  But the ice fields never truly let you.

  Lazarus stayed awake longer than he meant to, listening for footsteps that never came.

  Thanks for reading!

  Every time someone spends a few minutes in the world of Shahero, it honestly means more than I can properly put into words. Seeing people follow the journey of Tyron, Samantha, Lazarus, Freya, Cid, and Zara makes all the hours of writing worth it.

  If you enjoyed the chapter, feel free to leave a comment or follow the story. I read every comment, and it genuinely helps the story reach more readers here on Royal Road.

  A few people have also asked how they can support the project as I work toward eventually publishing the book. If that’s something you’d like to help with, there’s a support link below that goes toward editing and preparing the story for print.

  No pressure at all though—reading the story is already huge support.

  Question for readers:What moment in this chapter stood out to you the most?

  See you in the next chapter.

  — Matthew Cooke-Sumner